


Vigilante Skies (Layover)

by BethNottingham



Series: Vigilante Skies [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: 9x09 Pandora, Coda to a longer work, F/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28530336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNottingham/pseuds/BethNottingham
Summary: Explicit version of the clois scene from my fic/the time travel episode of Smallville.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Series: Vigilante Skies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089917
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Vigilante Skies (Layover)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello internet! This is my very, very first time ever trying to write an explicit scene. Here goes nothing. It starts in Chapter 4: Approach. If you haven't read the fic, I think the only piece of context you'd be missing that diverges from the episode is that Lois's left hand is broken.

“Lois,” Clark admitted softly, “I died when you left.”

She kissed him then, pulling his head down so she could reach with their height difference. His arms wrapped around her, the only comforting constant she’d had in this burning apocalypse world, and he kissed her back hungrily, like he’d been waiting for this for years. 

Maybe he had. 

Maybe they both had.

“I’m here now,” she murmured against his lips, and then he was pulling her closer, first wrapping his arms around her like she would dissolve into the aether the moment he let go, then as the heat built between them and he trusted his reality more, his hold loosened, his hands sliding up under her shirt. He cupped her back, caressing her skin, one of his hands sliding forward, a thumb gently skimming over the bottom of her breast. Her teeth grazed his lip; a wordless consent; a wordless plea for more.

She hadn’t worn a bra the day she’d left her own timeline—a choice made in her tired haze that morning, and which she’d regretted sincerely since then. However, she didn’t regret it now as Clark’s hands found the sensitive mounds of her breasts, one squeezing tantalizing, the other gently pinching and caressing at her pebbling nipple. The fabric of her shirt creaked slightly in protest as his arms forced it to stretch, and he pulled his hands out, undoing her buttons hurriedly as her tongue entered his mouth, twisting around his with practiced skill. 

She shrugged out of her shirt, flicking her wrist as it got caught on the dressing on her left hand, and with her right reached for his fly. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their first time—and she’d imagined it enough that it was probably indecent considering she’d only confessed her feelings for him under duress—but with the world ending around them, “now” seemed like the only time that could exist. Undoing his jeans with only her non-dominant hand was a complicated feat, made harder by her difficulty focusing as one of his hands grabbed firmly at her ass while the other squeezed the softer of her nipples, but she managed, popping open the button and yanking down the zipper. He reached away from her rear to pull at his waistband, and she moaned fitfully at the loss of contact. 

Kicking hurriedly out of his pants, he pressed his hand back to her bottom, the other reaching down to grab her thigh, picking her up as she wrapped her legs around him. He turned, navigating them to the bed without dropping her or crashing into anything, and she supposed later that she would be impressed by his strength and dexterity. Right now, however, all she could focus on was the heat between her legs, the fast-growing tent in his boxers, and the beautifully, painfully reality of him pressed against her; a reality she’d thought she’d never get to have. Her wounded arm reached up around his back, pulling him closer, closer, trying to be mindful of the pattern of bruises covering his torso. If she hurt him, he didn’t complain.

Clark’s fingers were massaging their way down her back—when they reached the waistband of her pants, her own fingers flew immediately to her button. After a moment of fumbling with it, and a curse muffled against Clark’s neck as she tried and failed to use her splinted hand out of habit, she wriggled out of them with his assistance. Stripped down to only her underwear, her body pulsed and throbbed with need. 

As Clark brought his hands back up to play with her breasts, one detoured to the saturated scrap of cloth between her legs, gently caressing her nether lips and making her moan and lift her body, chasing the sensation. He laughed at her frustration, and her heart soared and pounded at the sound—it wasn’t his brilliant, disarming smile, but it was the closest thing to happiness she’d heard from him since she’d landed in this hellscape. 

Reaching down between them, she ran her good hand firmly along his length, provoking a desperate moan from him as his body instinctively pressed hers down into the mattress, his teeth biting gently at the sensitive skin above her collarbone. He kissed and nipped down her chest, his tongue tracing nonsensical patterns across first one breast, then the other, then paused to suck on one of her nipples, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and drawing a soft cry from her as she threw her head back. His hands remained at her breasts, massaging firmly as he kissed down her stomach, grazing the sensitive skin just above her pantyline with his lips, then he reached down, hooking his fingers into the elastic of her underwear and looking up to make eye contact with her. His pupils were blown wide, the pleasure haze in his brain clearly written on his face, and he slid back slowly, pulling her underwear down until she could free her feet from them. 

Tossing the thoroughly soaked piece of cloth to the floor, he wrapped his hands gently but firmly around her ankles, then slid back up to press a kiss against the side of her knee. He planted kisses up the side of her thigh, higher, higher, and her breathing quickened, he eyes still locked on his, as his lips paused their ascent, just a hair lower of where she wanted them. She threaded her right fingers through his hair, letting her nails scratch gently at his scalp.

When his mouth found her center, his tongue licking a long firm line up it, opening her and running across her fast-swelling clit, she gasped out his name like a prayer. 

She didn’t know (and honestly couldn’t imagine) who in his life had taught Clark Kent how to eat a woman out, but as he alternately thrust his tongue inside her and sucked and flicked her clit, she was mentally elevating them to sainthood. He wasn’t what she’d call a pro, but he was enthusiastic, and every time she’d curse or moan his name he’d take note, continuing whatever he’d been doing until it was enough to drive her completely crazy with lust. 

She’d always been vocal during sex, no matter how she tried to suppress it, but with Clark she didn’t feel the need to hold anything back. He was someone she supposed she’d always felt like she could be open and honest with, and here and now there was nothing in the world dividing them. Well, nothing but one remaining piece of fabric. He leaned up to kiss her passionately, and she took the opportunity to bend her knees, raising her legs so she could hook her toes dexterously into his waistband. Seeming to remember that the boxers were there, he took the hint, reaching a hand down to help her get them off, and tossing them to the floor to join hers. She reached down immediately with her good hand, cupping and stroking him as he gasped out her name against her skin.

Rubbing his tip against her entrance, he propped himself up on his elbows to smirk down at her, knowing that he had her all hot and bothered and that he was denying her what she really wanted. She tried to glare at him, but knew that she’d only half-succeeded. Her face was making bedroom eyes whether she wanted it to or not.

“Um,” he whispered hoarsely, his face falling a bit. “I don’t have a—”

“I have an IUD,” she cut him off, impressed by how much volume she’d managed when most of her air supply was being burned up by wanton desperation. “I’ve been waiting for you for years, do  _ not  _ make me wait another minute, Clark Kent!” The smirk returned with a vengeance; she couldn’t keep her irritation up when he was so close to actually smiling. His tip teased her again, rubbing up and down her soaking wet slit and spreading precum down her nether lips, slicking her clit with it. She kissed him again, her knees coming up to grip at his hips, but before he could move the necessary inches to give them both what they so clearly wanted, she groaned in pain, having tried to use her left hand to grip his ass as she normally would at this stage.

“Here,” he mumbled against her lips, his right hand wrapping gently around her left wrist and bringing her arm up so that he was pressing it carefully but firmly into the pillow above her head. “Let me.”

Then he slid inside her, slowly, almost hesitant at first, like he was being mindful not to hurt her. Once he was completely sheathed inside her, he paused, letting her body get used to the stretch and feel of him as he kissed ravenously down the side of her neck and then back up the front of it. She writhed against him, her whole body pleading for friction, and mercifully he started to move, pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a slow and steady rhythm. A laugh bubbled out of her—wasn’t that just like him, slow and steady. The vibrations of her laughter made his whole body tense, his free hand gripping tightly at her shoulder.

With a few attempts, he found just the right angle to get her moaning and grinding onto him with every thrust, then kept up his slow and steady pace, just enough to flood her mind with pleasure, but not enough to send either of them over the edge. She had no idea how long they passed like that—just that he was clearly trying to draw this out for as long as humanly (or inhumanly) possible, savoring the moment and making it last. 

His free hand ran down her side, then up to play with one of her nipples again, squeezing and rubbing until the pleasure bordered on pain, then moving to the other one; difficult with the way she was pressed against him, but he managed. He massaged both of her breasts in turn, muffling her noises with his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, mimicking the way she twisted hers. His hand on her wrist was warm and unyielding, and her muscles tensed as she strained reflexively against it, pushing herself further onto him. 

Her free hand moved from gripping his hair to run down the length of his back, finding his left ass cheek and kneading the firm muscle there, surprising a throaty moan out of him. He ran his hand down her body as well, wrapping his warm palm around the base of her thigh and lifting, urging her to wrap that leg around his waist, which she did, allowing him to pull her closer and thrust into her harder. The increased sensation seemed to break his concentration, and he sped up, his pace becoming more erratic.

Rolling his hips just right, he managed to hit the exact spot inside of her that always sent her to the moon and back, and she climaxed with a wordless shout. He pumped into her just so until she’d ridden out her orgasm completely, her body’s clenching around him driving him towards his own release. Having truly abandoned any attempt at rhythm, he thrust wildly into her, once, twice, a third time, and on the fourth both of their bodies pulsed, his coming, hers gripped by delicious aftershocks.

He slowed as he softened, pulling out of her and kissing her deeply, his hand caressing her back. She twisted her hips, her leg around him giving her the leverage she needed to flip him over onto his back. Unwrapping herself, she leaned down and gently kissed her way across his torso, his right hand releasing her wrist to cup the back of her head. Leaning back up, she kissed him passionately, savoring his warmth and closeness and the way he’d always smelled like safety and fresh air. 

“That was amazing,” she panted softly, laying down with her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered back.

“I am, aren’t I?” she quipped, looking up with a smirk. His eyes softened—his smile wasn’t quite back yet, but she could see a shadow of it returning as he leaned down to kiss her once more, tenderly. 

As the heat began to recede between them, Clark reached down and pulled the rumpled blankets up over them both, settling his arm more comfortably around Lois. Normally, this was the part where her date would start to crash and she’d prepare for her great escape, to reappear on the next outing with hair and makeup intact; no early-morning awkwardness, and no pressing her cold feet somewhere uncomfortable in her sleep. 

The thought passed out of her head as soon as it had entered. Clark wasn’t just a date. He wasn’t someone she had to work hard to impress—he was already impressed with her no matter what she did. He’d seen her at her lowest lows, her embarrassing moments (both drunk and sober—and it was a toss up which was worse) not to mention her electronically coerced love confession… 

He’d also seen her at her best, and not just that one red dress that made her ass look amazing and added a cup size to her cleavage. He’d seen her trap people with words, pulling truths out of them that they didn’t even know they knew, take down bad guys and kick in doors. He hadn’t seen her fly yet, but they had time enough for that. 

“Hey,” he whispered into her hair, “I wanted to apologize.”

“Am I about to yell at you again for making everything your fault?” she asked, rolling her head back to look up at him.

“For not telling you who I was,” he responded softly. She blinked slowly, then nodded.

“Yeah you probably should’ve done that earlier,” she agreed.

“In my defense, a lot of people who knew about my secret wound up dead,” he added, falling silent, his hold on her tightening as if reassessing the amount of danger she was in just by being by his side. She ran her fingers up his chest, tapping her index finger against his skin.

“What’d I just say?” she quipped, raising her eyebrows.

“I didn’t say anything about fault,” he backtracked quickly. “But the correlation is there. It’s hard to ignore. Although… Out of everyone I’ve ever met, I think you’re the most equipped to handle it,” he added, twisting down to kiss her. She smiled against his lips.

“That’s better,” she mumbled softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, kids! Contraceptives such as pills, implants and injections can prevent pregnancy and help with various medical stuff, but they do not do anything against STIs. Safe sex is good sex. If you’re not living through a literal apocalypse, then you can march your horny ass down to the drug store and purchase a box of condoms. If you are too uncomfortable buying condoms from a clerk who (I can tell you from personal experience) doesn’t give a single shit what you’re buying, then you are not ready to have sex. 
> 
> (If you ARE living through the literal apocalypse and there are no drug stores or condoms left on the face of the Earth, then probably do what you want.) 
> 
> Also, who DID teach Clark how to go down on a girl? Bless Jonathan Kent’s Country Boy Heart but it wasn’t him. Ma & Pa Kent were SIGNIFICANTLY more upset about Clark getting roofied and accidentally getting married, and not even consummating said marriage, than they were about him intentionally “drugging” himself by using red kryptonite and robbing banks for 3 months. No way in HELL he got anything more than “these are the birds and the bees, now don’t think too hard about that until you’re married in a church by a pastor.” 
> 
> Anyway, I have a headcanon answer to that, which came to me as I was blocking out this interlude; it’s hilarious and may get its own chapter. We’ll see.


End file.
